


Don’t just dream of me, let me haunt you during the day.

by youngjusticewriter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dead Robins Week, Gen, Ghosts, Jason Todd Centric, POV Bruce Wayne, Pre-Under the Red Hood, Timeline What Timeline, Young Jason Todd, even though he’s not a pov character this is about him, let Alfred and Bruce have a father and son relationship, look Bruce is paranoid and I’m running with that, overall anyway he’s still human, this is horrible but I tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngjusticewriter/pseuds/youngjusticewriter
Summary: Jason smiled at him, but was no happiness in his expression if you knew him well. In fact, Bruce realized, there was something akin to pity in Jason’s eyes.“Say you lose part of yourself and the rest of you moves on. What do you think happens to that one part? Does it simply stop existing, is it buried underneath the rest of you, or is it separate from you and it gets to watch you move on. If it’s the last one,” Jason mused, “that means it gets to watch the rest of it’s self make decisions you can understand but don’t really agree with. It gets to watch the people it use to be loved and not be able to do shit for them.”“There’s something it can do if it’s clever enough. There’s always a way.” At Bruce’s words Jason’s smile grew but still there was no genuine happiness to be found in it.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66
Collections: Dead Robins Week 2019.





	Don’t just dream of me, let me haunt you during the day.

It said something about how good the game was on tv that the Bruce Wayne had walked into a pub in Gotham and nobody noticed. 

When he found who he was looking for Bruce admittedly waited before sliding in the booth in front of the young man. Seeing Jason in a college sweatshirt (that was too big on him - had Jason not been eating enough?) with a plate full of chili-dogs that certainly would have Alfred’s nose wrinkling might be weird thing to bask in to anyone else but for him it was a sweet d-

The older he became the more Bruce took a moment or two to just pause and enjoy in what he was thankful for. With a smile that had not graced his face in quite some time Bruce took a seat not caring if there was any puddles of liquids or splotches of food that might stain his attire. When Bruce’s eyes fell on Jason’s face there was no smile greeting him but there was warmth in his son’s eyes. 

“Do I need to order you another plate of chili-dogs? You’ve lost weight.” Bruce inquired, eyes taking in his son. Jason had stopped eating since Bruce had joined him at the table; while Alfred’s lessons on properly taking care of one’s body had been forgotten not talking with your mouth full apparently had stuck. 

“Don’t worry I’m getting better.” Jason reassured him and Bruce gave him a pointed look at that. Jason wasn’t one to easily admit he needed help even after all these years. It wasn’t pride though that made him hesitant on seeking help. No, it was because of his childhood, his parents. Willis Todd had often been absent in Jason’s early years of life and when he had been home he was more likely to hurt his son than to help him, to give Jason guidance so he could get off the ground and try again, and that was something Bruce could never understand despite being heralded as the world’s greatest detective. Catherine Todd, because of her addiction, couldn’t be there to help Jason. She needed help and the only dependent person who was in her life hadn’t been a person but rather a child, her own son. With white knuckles, a baseball bat, and a clever mind Jason had tried to help but he had only been a kid. There was only so much Jason could have done - he was a kid after all - despite what he thought though Bruce himself was guilty of the same thing when it came to his own parents’ murders. 

“You are too because of the new kid.” At the look in Bruce’s eyes Jason plowed on before Bruce could even open his mouth. “I’m glad. You get so wrapped up in guilt or being busy that you need someone to pull your head out of butt. Alfred is getting old. He can’t do it for you forever and Dick isn’t there for you.” Jason snorted then before he continued on, “*Not that I blame him. We might not be have been close but I would have been pissed off too you know.” 

The idea of Jason being in Dick’s shoes, in Bruce having to los- Bruce wondered when a waitress would show up. Maybe a hot drink would calm the nausea he was feeling. That and it, a hot drink, would be most certainly feel great with how cold it was in the pub. 

“Language,” Bruce admonished Jason only for his son raise a single eyebrow at him. ‘Really?’ Jason expression asked him. 

“You deserve it,” was Jason’s simple rebuttal. In different circumstances Bruce would have argued with Jason that he could have made his point with cussing but right now he wouldn’t. He hadn’t come here looking for a fight. No, Bruce had came here to spend some time with his son. 

“How have your classes been?” Bruce asked only for Jason to give him a pointed look that conveyed he hadn’t been that smooth, still Jason went along with the subject change without a fight. Though Bruce warily eyed Jason as his son’s shoulders curled forward as he thought of reply. 

“I’ve been doing good,” Jason admitted but there was no pleasure or pride to be on his face. Bruce’s lips fell even further at the sight but before he could open them and ask what was wrong Jason continued. “Sometimes something happens to you and you lose part of you.” 

It was those words that reminded Bruce of a promise he had uttered early in the morning after Alfred had picked him up from the police station where he had spent the rest of that night - the night Bruce could never forget because, yes, it was like Jason had said, sometimes something happens to you and a part of yourself is stolen from you because of that incident - at. That promise had been like a ribbon Bruce had bandaged himself with so not to fall part like Marie had bandaged her nutcracker that, one day later, would become her protector. It was a promise Bruce was still fulfilling to this very day. 

When Bruce came out of his thoughts Jason’s expression was pained as though he was carrying a heavy weight and all Bruce could do for now was wait to see if his son would let him help in lifting that burden. That and hope the sports fans in the pub would shut up because Jason’s eyes would occasionally look toward them, a longing in his eyes to be as carefree and happy as those men were. 

When Jason didn’t speak up Bruce lightly prodded him, “Do you want to talk about whatever happened or would you rather discuss something else?” 

Jason smiled at him, but was no happiness in his expression if you knew him well. In fact, Bruce realized, there was something akin to pity in Jason’s eyes. 

“Say you lose part of yourself and the rest of you moves on. What do you think happens to that one part? Does it simply stop existing, is it buried underneath the rest of you, or is it separate from you and it gets to watch you move on. If it’s the last one,” Jason mused, “that means it gets to watch the rest of it’s self make decisions you can understand but don’t really agree with. It gets to watch the people it use to be loved and not be able to do shit for them.” 

“There’s something it can do if it’s clever enough. There’s always a way.” At Bruce’s words Jason’s smile grew but still there was no genuine happiness to be found in it. 

“So about the new boy.” Jason said, changing the subject after a minute of heavy silence. It was now Bruce’s turn to have a facial expression that expressed how not smooth the subject change transaction had been. “I like his friend. I like both Cass and Stephanie actually but I don’t need to tell you what I’m about to for Cass. She’s got a straight head or like the kids say nowadays the most cell in the group.” 

Bruce with laughter in his voice admonished his son, “You’re not old. I’m your father and even I don’t say like the kids say nowadays.” 

The teasing didn’t spark any warmth in Jason’s smile. No, Jason‘s smile looked more forced than before. “You shouldn’t be hard on her you know.” 

Bruce paused at those words. He couldn’t think of why he would be hard on Stephanie Brown who was known as Spoiler during patrol. 

“Yeah, recklessness can get you killed but you’re cracking down on her like you’re not a billionaire and are being payed a lot to do it. I get why you are - you don’t know after all - so that’s why I’m here tonight. I didn’t-“ whatever Jason was about to say Bruce didn’t hear it over the roar the sports fans made. Bruce wondered in the back of his mind how the group hadn’t been asked to quiet it down a bit yet. “Shelia handed me over to him. Apparently, she had been smuggling money so having an investigation from the Joker being there would have ended up with her being caught. So that’s why it happened. I wasn’t reckless,” Jason confessed with wet eyes and emotions heavy in his voice.” “I was going to listen to what you told me but I thought he was going to kill her so I went in.” Desperation and regret were twined together in Jason’s tone as he explained himself to Bruce but he didn’t have to explain himself. His son was making a mountain out of mole hill. Everything had turned out find and because of Shelia having died that day Jason had stayed with Bruce. After a few months Bruce allowed Jason back on patrol and- 

What happened with Dick had happened again with Jason. His son had grown up and he wanted more. Jason had left the nest to go to college and then Tim had barged into his life because Batman always needed a Robin. Soon Cass and Stephanie had followed too. Why Jason thought he was being harsh on the later he didn’t know. She reminds me of you, Bruce thought, of course I expect great things from her. (What else could it be but that?) 

“I got to go now,” Jason told him before getting up from the booth. Some part of Bruce’s mind couldn’t help but notice how odd it was for Jason of all people to leave behind a plate of food. Before Bruce could even open his mouth to remind his son about leaving the food Jason spoke. 

“I love you,” Jason admitted with emotion thick in his voice and at those words Bruce didn’t see the college freshman he dreamed of but the boy his son had been at his death. “No matter what comes remember that will you?” The dead boy asked before Bruce pleaded to him to stay. 

The tears in Jason’s eyes grew. “I can’t stay in your dream but I’ll be here. And one day we’ll all see each other one day. You got to remember that I love you no matter what then, okay?” 

Somehow Bruce managed to open his mouth, even though it was a dream and nothing more still Bruce felt pressed to say these words to his son. “I love you too no matter what.” 

There was something there then on Jason’s face as though he doubted that, as if Bruce’s love for his son was limited. It wasn’t and it never would be. So Bruce repeated his words, “I love you too no matter what.” 

Jason’s shoulders were trembling. He looked so fragile in that moment, Bruce noticed, like he was teacup and he was expecting someone to just throw him to the floor without any care to the fact it would be break Jason to be discarded just like the fall would shatter a teacup to pieces. 

“No matter what,” Bruce swore with his eyes directly on Jason’s. This was the third time Bruce had repeated the words. 

Bruce sadly woke up before he could see his son’s reaction to that promise. The alarm was blaring, the birds were outside chirping, and light streamed from the windows (Alfred must have came in earlier to push the curtains apart). That was the cruelest thing about life wasn’t it? 

It went on after death. It went on no matter how much Bruce’s world had been torn from under his feet over the years, leaving Bruce years latter trying to collect some semblance of normality that had been stolen from him. 

Bruce put on a smile that Tim, if he was there, would have dubbed his Brucie smile as he got up from his bed. It was a minute before Bruce dares to attempt turning off the alarm. It wasn’t the alarm’s fault after all that it had woken Bruce from a rare sweet dream. But had it just been a dream? wondered a part of Bruce in the back his mind. (Ever since he was a kid he had been brimming with questions. Not even that night could take the curiosity from Bruce along with everything else the gunmen had stolen from him.) 

Was the idea truly unbelievable in the world Bruce lived in? A world where he occasionally worked with aliens, a demi-god, magicians, and dead men brought to life? No, Bruce admitted and that fake smile of his fell at thought. 

Say it was true, Bruce thought as he opened his closet and looked down at the business clothes he would have to select from to go to Wayne Enterprises instead of staying home and figuring this out now rather then later, say Jason was a ghost. (It was the shirts Bruce first looked at.) 

How could Bruce go about proving this? Should he tells the others if he did went about trying to prove Jason’s spirit hadn’t passed on? Bruce’s first answer was no. (Don’t let them get their hopes up too. Bruce wouldn’t hurt his family anymore then he already had.) But the words Jason had spoken to him in the dream came back to Bruce. 

Bruce put down the ivory dress shirt he had selected earlier and walked out of the closet. It was the desk that was Bruce’s destination. After he took a seat Bruce started to write down what he remembered of the dream. He had a good memory, yes, but concussions were very much a thing Bruce had been dealt during his time as the protector of this city; it was best to plan for the worst after all. Once Bruce finished writing down it all down he grimaced at the words that stared down at him. 

(“We might not have been close,” Jason had admitted with a pointed look already directed at Bruce, “but I would have been pissed off too you know.”) 

Bruce shut his eyes, shut himself from the world, and shut himself inside with only his thoughts and regrets. He would Dick and the others soon. Not yet, not till Bruce had some bit of proof instead of trusting that little feeling that was his gut (a gut Dick had often said was paranoid). So far Bruce only had one idea how to possibly prove that it hadn’t been just dream, just wishful thinking fueled by an ocean of grief. 

(“I get why you are - you don’t know after all - so that’s why I’m here tonight. I didn’t-“ whatever Jason was about to say Bruce didn’t hear it over the roar the sports fans made. Now, looking back awake Bruce understood it was likely Jason had said then he hadn’t died because he was reckless. “Shelia handed me over to him. Apparently, she had been smuggling money so having an investigation from the Joker being there would have ended up with her being caught. So that’s why it happened. I wasn’t reckless,” Jason confessed with tears in his eyes and emotions heavy in his voice. “I was going to listen to what you told me but I thought he was going to kill her so I went in.”) 

It was hard to focus on the steps (he could of course try to see if anyone still remembered Shelia here but it would be smarter to go to Ethiopia to ask around on what her character had been like) that needed to be taken because if he had been better father, if he better at handling anger himself then maybe he could have helped Jason instead of simply grounding his son from patrol, then maybe Jason wouldn’t have gone looking for Shelia. (Just another another parent who failed Jason.) His son would be alive instead of- 

Bruce eyes’ snapped opened and immediately fell onto the piece of paper he had recorded their conversation on. 

(“Say you lose part of yourself and the rest of you moves on. What do you think happens to that one part? Does it simply stop existing, is it buried underneath the rest of you, or is it separate from you and it gets to watch you move on. If it’s the last one,” Jason mused to Bruce, “that means it gets to watch the rest of it’s self make decisions you can understand but don’t really agree with. It gets to watch the people it use to be loved and not be able to do shit for them.”) 

Being too slow to dodge Killer Crocodile’s blow would have hurt worse than the realization (it wasn’t a realization - it was just a theory, he didn’t know for sure) that had just befall Bruce. He didn’t grind his teeth but the urge was there. 

There was a noise then and took several moments longer than it should have for Bruce to realize that it was head hitting the leather of the seat. 

His son. Jason had been a boy. Bruce wanted to think that surely no-one would do anything to the body (just let him rest - was it not enough that life had taken so much from Jason before life itself was cruelly stolen from the boy?) but Bruce’s faith in mankind was worn like paint left in the sun for too long. Which was to say it was a shabby thing that over the years was slowly but surely peeling off until one day there was nothing left. That day where there was nothing left would be the day Bruce would have to hang up his cape for Batman wasn’t only a symbol of justice but of hope. If Bruce wasn’t able to offer that to both victims and some of the people fought then he couldn’t be Batman.

When Bruce got up to get dressed he didn’t pick up that ivory shirt from earlier or any slacks. No, it was a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt Dick had bought him years ago for Christmas that Bruce slipped into. (They hadn’t spent a Christmas together ever since Jason’s death - no, that was wrong. There hadn’t been a family gathering for Christmas since Bruce hadn’t told Dick that Jason had been murdered.) The shirt said that he was Superman’s biggest fan since Dick had a poor sense of humor. With a shake of his head at thought of the lack of good humor his oldest son had Bruce went out of his bedroom. No matter the itching of his curiosity (If the corpse wasn’t there... Could it simply be some punk’s cruel prank or great desire of money that they would disturb a corpse to ransom it or was it one of his few enemies that knew his identity?) Bruce would first go have breakfast with Alfred and Tim before visiting the graveyard. 

There was no need to alarm anyone...least not until Bruce knew for certain. 

Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair. Both Alfred and Tim noticed and commented on the casual clothes but Bruce easily brushed them off and changed the topic of conversation to Tim’s school work. Still there was curiosity to be found in Alfred’s old eyes and that look only grew when Bruce told him he wouldn’t need Alfred to drive him today. 

“Sir?” Was Alfred’s response, a single eyebrow raised at him. 

“Drive Tim to school today. There’s something I need to check on.” 

At Bruce’s vague explanation Alfred’s lips thinned. Bruce wasn’t annoyed by the sight. The man was closest thing Bruce had had to a father after his own father’s death. It made sense for Alfred to fret (and to be honest Bruce occasionally did the same thing when Alfred’s age reared it’s head) considering their relationship and with Bruce’s nightly activities that worry only naturally grew. ...With Jason’s murder Alfre- 

“As you say Master Bruce. I must put the dishes to soak and then I’ll shall go take Master Timothy to school.” Alfred’s tone was a curt thing. 

“Thank you.” Bruce told him before promising in a soft voice (because ever since he adopted Dick Bruce has to be careful of what little ears will attempt to overhear even if Tim had excused himself from the room a few minutes earlier ), “....If what I’m looking into turns out to be solid I will let you.” 

Bruce could tell that Alfred’s curiosity was only further growing. Still there were things that needed to be done before Alfred drove Tim to school so Alfred started on them; gathering the dirty dishes being the first thing he worked on. 

“I can take some,” Bruce told Alfred only to be shoot with a withering glare that could spoil milk; the keys to all the vehicles he and, before that, his parents owned were kept in the main kitchen of the manor. 

In soft mockery, Bruce raised his hands above his head in surrender. “You have done what no one else in this city has accomplished: you’ve made me surrender.” 

Alfred didn’t snort but there was humor to found brightening his eyes. The sight eased - even though it was just a bit, it was still something - the weight that had been in his chest ever since Bruce had woken up this morning. “If you wish to you may open the door since we’re going the same way Master Bruce. You however will not be aiding me in this endeavor. I may be old but I more than-“ 

“One hell of a butler?” Tim suggested from the other doorway the dinning-room had. Tim was grinning at his joke but there was still a weariness in his eyes and Bruce couldn’t help but wonder when his youngest son had become so good at reading him. Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising considering Tim’s hobby that had eventually lead to him contacting Dick. 

“I’m afraid I am not demon, nor am I a vampire, no matter what you children believe Master Tim.” One could easily tell from Alfred’s tone that these conspiracy theories on why he “never aged” were not a new thing. “Though I suppose if I were in a tight situation I could always use the cheap silverware we’ve been gifted by the Powers as make do throwing knives. That might actually be the only use of them.” 

While Bruce didn’t give into the urge of laughing (no, he only allowed a small smile on his face) Tim however did. It, the joke, made his solemn face brighten and his tiny shoulders shake from laughter. It was a nice sight to see because even after Tim had lost his last parent he could still laugh and that was all Bruce could hope for. (It was so much more than he had managed to do after his own parents’ deaths and isn’t that what parenting was about? Wanting your children to be better than you?) 

Bruce didn’t tell Tim thank you (for coming into our lives instead of watching them, for shaking me out of my grief and becoming Robin even after what happened to Jason, for being so much better than me) but he ardently was thankful. 

No matter how today ended, Bruce realized, there would still be this: laughter to be found in the aftermath of death.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Monday: Ghost or Corpse. 
> 
> *In the comics after Death of the Family apparently Bruce never tells Dick that Jason died. Dick learns this from someone else some time after Jason’s funeral. 
> 
> The basic idea for my fill of this prompt was that when the Lazarus Pit brought Jason back it didn’t bring the entirety of him. The part that didn’t come back is still stuck as a young Jason Todd. That part of Jason is stuck watching his other self train to become the Red Hood and, when he’s not watching other Jason, is stuck watching over the batfamily unable to interven at first. As he gets older Jason starts getting powers as a ghost and one of them is visiting dreams. Jason is worried that Bruce will grow to hate him because what he is other self is doing and ends up visiting Bruce’s dream to ask if he would hate him. 
> 
> I may play around with this idea some more later (I’ve already expanded this more than I planned which lead to me changing the title name I had planned) but I’m leaving it here for now because I need to work on my other prompts and on my time travel Percy Jackson fic (I have a fight scene this chapter so what fun, I say type sarcastically).


End file.
